


Mr. Baelish and the Babysitter

by stargategeek



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, I guess it’s kinky, Infidelity, It’s weird but she’s into it, Modern AU, Naughty, Older Man/Younger Woman, Paying for college, Propositions, Repression, Slow Burn, Strange Arrangements, Voyeurism, babysitter, cringey wall banging, impotency, little bit pervy, reverse daddy issues, secrecy, socks are sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-25 02:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: “Sansa, I...” he begins to say but the words get lodged behind his tongue. The way she looks in this moment, gleaming and youthful, and summery - he is almost transported to another time entirely.“I didn’t hire you today for Robin,” he ducks his eyes to her shoes but finds them traversing up the creamy lengths of her legs back up to her face. He swallows heavily. “I hired you...for me.”
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Lysa Tully Arryn, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 178





	1. A proposition

There was a knock at the door.

“Hello Mister Baelish.”

He plastered on a genial expression.

“Miss Stark.”

She tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear.

“Come in.” He smiled easily, stepping aside just enough so that her body brushed his as she passed him into the front room of the house.

Once she was inside he closed the door and discreetly locked it. He stood facing the door for a long moment - collecting himself.

“Where’s Robin?” She stood behind him.

He turned to her. “Hmm?”

She laughed. It was a glorious sound.

“Robin. Your son,” she teased.

“Ah yes, I thought I had one of those,” the quip comes out of his mouth thoughtlessly but it does make her laugh again. They share a small laugh together.

“Actually he’s...he’s not here,” he says calmly. His genial nature giving way to a much odder intensity.

The smile on her face doesn’t leave, though confusion begins to blossom in endlessly blue eyes.

“What?” she laughs but this time with a hint of hesitancy.

“He’s at a play date at a friends house actually,” he attempts to act casual, but it comes across forced and strange. There was nothing casual about the way he looked at her.

“I’m sorry,” a million thoughts run across her face. “Did I misunderstand something? Did I screw up the date, or...”

“No, no, you are here at the right time.”

Her confusion deepens. “Is Robin coming home soon?”

He wants to say something to alleviate her growing tension. Something that will make her feel more at ease, but he can’t bring himself to lie to her. 

“No, no he’s not.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then what....”

He cuts her off by clearing his throat. “Sansa, I...” he begins to say but the words get lodged behind his tongue. The way she looks in this moment, gleaming and youthful, and summery - he is almost transported to another time entirely.

“I didn’t hire you today for Robin,” he ducks his eyes to her shoes but finds them traversing up the creamy lengths of her legs back up to her face. He swallows heavily. “I hired you...for me.”

Confusion slowly morphs her face all at once, from knitted brows and blinking eyes to the slow dawning of a startling revelation. Her eyes widen. He senses her flight before she bursts into movement and blocks her way to the door.

“Sansa please!” he holds his hands out.

Panic rises within him and he can see it reflected in her. 

“Mister Baelish!” she cries, lurching away from him. Her eyes roam around the room ildly, calculating an escape. 

“Please, please, I just want to talk. I just want to talk. It’s not what you think!”

She turns and starts making a break for the back door through the kitchen.

He chases after her, muttering: stupid, asshole, creepo, stupid - under his breath.

“Wait, wait!”

The kitchen door is locked, he locked it before she came. The fact that he thought he should lock it makes him wince internally.

Sansa jiggles the handle desperately, letting out a frightened whimper. 

Petyr slows himself down a safe distance away from her and makes slow and steady strides into the room like one approaching a startled animal.

“Sansa.”

She turns to him, defeated, with her eyes gleaming with fearful tears. “Please, please let me go.” Her last defence. 

He splays his hands in a passive, non-threatening gesture.

“Sansa, I won’t hurt you. I won’t do anything to you. I just want to talk with you. That’s all. Please.”

Her breathing slowed, and she bit her lip, unsure. 

“I’m sorry, i frightened you. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“Mister Baelish, what is going on?”

With the firm use of his name her strength returned, the unshed tears in her eyes replaced with cold steel.

“May we sit?” he gestured to the kitchen table. 

She held herself tense - still on the defensive.

He pulled out the chair nearest him at the farest end of the table from her. 

“I’ll sit here,” he sat down. She still did not move from where she stood. “Oh and I’ll...” he reached into his back pocket for his set of keys, tossing them into the center of the table like one would chips in a poker game. Her eyes fixated on the keys.

“And here,” he placed both hands on the tabletop palm down where she could plainly see them. “I won’t move them from the table. You are not a prisoner here Sansa. I just want to have a talk, and once we are finished talking you can go as you wish, I won’t stop you. Please. Just hear me out.”

Those cunning blue eyes narrowed for a moment, regarding him - how he made himself so passive and powerless in front of her. She can’t deny it - her curiosity.

With slow, measured steps she pulled out the chair at the other end and sat tentatively at its edge - ready to bolt with his keys if he didn’t keep his promise.

“Okay,” she said slowly. Cautiously.

He breathed out a small held breath.

“I’m sorry if I in anyway made you feel threatened or anything. That was not my intention,” he began.

She crossed her arms and tossed her long hair perfectly around her shoulder. A power stance.

“Get on with it.”

He cleared his throat. 

“Can I offer you anything to drink?” The question leaves his mouth out of habit and it takes less than a few seconds for him to feel more than a little stupid for asking it. This wasn’t a fucking social call and it certainly wasn’t a tea party.

Sansa leans back in her chair. Observing him closely.

“I’d like a soda please,” she said after a moment.

A hint of a smile twitches at his mouth. He promised he would not move his hands from the table. She was testing him. Clever girl.

“Cokes in the fridge. Help yourself.”

The upper corner of her mouth quirked ever-so-slightly. Without her eyes leaving him, she got up and walked over to the fridge and grabbed the first can that was sitting in the door. Returning to her seat she popped the top but did not drink it - placing the can on the table to fizz in the silence between them. 

She tipped her head in a gesture for him to begin.

“I have a proposal for you, Miss Stark,” he said evenly, despite the thrumming in his chest.

She took in his words for a moment, absorbing their meaning. She closed her eyes for a second before reopening them and nodding for him to continue.

“I - uh...” the words died on his tongue. He averted his gaze to his hands. How was he supposed to explain this bout of madness that had overcome him without coming across as a magnificent creep. “You, see...”

He cleared his throat and met her eyes again. Her face was hard and expressionless. Her skin flawless porcelain and pink marble. She is the image of the goddess herself in a pair of red shorts.

“No one ever talks about how drab and passionless life becomes after you are married,” the words suddenly tumble out of him. “It seems a natural choice at the time. Almost forty, successful in business, not so successful in love. But she comes along and she needs you. You’ve known her practically your whole life and her husband has just died, and she is lost and with a fatherless three year old. With the trajectory of your life thus far, it seems the natural next step. The suburbs. Dinners at Chuck E Cheese, birthday parties, PTA meetings. And suddenly you wake up and nearly five years have passed and you realize you haven’t felt an ounce of passion for anything since your honeymoon.”

The thrumming in his chest rings in his ears so loud he is sure she must hear it too. But then he looks at her. Her oceanic eyes, wide and warm, and taking in everything.

“And now I realize. That’s all I want now. To feel something again. A small, living, breathing, something - to fill the dull hollow void my life has become.”

Sansa’s shoulders relax slightly, and it is a small sign that he is making some sense.

“This is where you come in.”

Her eyes widen slightly. Whether in surprise or in fear he could not say.

“Since you’ve been around I have started to feel...something. Something I haven’t felt in a long while,” he gestures to his hand with a glance of his eyes. “May I?”

She catches his meaning and nods. With one hand still on the table, the other one reaches to his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

“I know you are saving up for college. Perhaps I can help you with that. Payment for services rendered.”

Her body tenses again, and he immediately doubles back, dropping the wallet in the space between his hands and returning both hands palm flat to the tabletop.

“That’s...that’s not what I meant,” the skin of his throat felt warm, and his palms were sweltering against the polished pine table. He looked up at Sansa, imploring with his eyes to continue listening. 

“Where’s Mrs Arryn?” she asked very calmly.

“She’ll be back in an hour,” he says reassuringly. Whatever could happen between them would not happen today. Today was only about pleading his case.

Sansa relaxed again. 

“What kind of services?” she asked slowly.

He swallowed heavily.

“I would like to pay you to watch you do things.”

“Things?” she asked, an eyebrow quirking up.

“Yes, things.”

“Like sexual things?”

It was the first time in the conversation they had broached the topic. He shook his head firmly. 

“No, no,” he had told himself that this wasn’t what it was about. 

“Then what?” she huffed, her patience wearing thin.

His mouth moved up and down soundlessly as he tried to come up with an example of what he wanted. He couldn’t really explain it. He just wanted to look at her, but more than that he wanted to feel something while he looked at her. 

“Just small things,” he eventually said.

“Housework?” she asked.

“If you like.”

“Sleeping?”

“Perhaps.”

“On the toilet?”

He shrugged. “Anything.”

“And you’ll pay me, what? For the hour.”

“I can pay you whatever you would like to be paid. By the hour, by the minute, hell you can set the price for every individual thing I ask of you. Money up front. I ask, you charge, I pay, you do. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and you can set any amount you wish, within reason.”

“Meaning?” 

“There is room to negotiate,” his mouth twitches just a little. “Let say certain things might have certain price limits. You won’t go charging me a thousand dollars just to watch you read. Though if you wish just to sit there and stare at me I will pay for that.”

Her brow knitted together - taking in the insanity of his proposal. And it was a terribly mad thing to ask of a person - let alone a twenty year old girl.

“So, you’re saying, I could do nothing at all, I could just sit here and you would pay me?”

He nodded his head. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Just so you can watch?”

“If that’s all you want.”

Her eyes darkened ever so slightly.

“And what do you want?” she asked firmly.

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything you will permit me.”

She sat back in her chair, blinking - bewildered. Petyr felt as though he sat on the head of a pin. 

“And what if I say no?” her eyes narrowed once again. Eyeing him carefully.

“If you say no then you are free to leave and we shall never speak about this again. I will leave you completely, and one hundred percent alone. The only one who will be contacting you will be my wife for your services as a babysitter, and you will never have to be in this house alone with me ever again. You have my word, Sansa.”

Their eye contact didn’t break for a long moment. Sansa lifted a hand to her chin to tap on it thoughtfully. Running the numbers in her head. Petyr didn’t care if she took him for all he was worth. Even now, just sitting across from her like this, he felt more alive than he had in years. 

She broke her gaze first and looked down at the can of soda, still bubbling idly on the table. She looked from the can, to him, then back to the soda - an idea forming in the muddle of conflicting thoughts.

“Right now,” she said, picking up this can. “Would you pay me right now to drink this can?”

Petyr smiled a little, picking up his wallet and opening it up, taking out a hefty stack of five dollar bills. He thanked his lucky stars he always carried cash.

Sansa licked her lips, looking at the money.

“How much?” she asked.

Petyr shrugged. “Shall we say five bucks a sip?“

He licked his thumb and pulled a single fiver from the stack. A challenge.

Sansa swallowed, her throat bobbing, causing the porcelain skin to ripple. Something in him stirred.

“Alright, show me,” she accepted his challenge, leaning forward to take a small sip.

He dropped the five dollar bill on the table, in the space between them next to his keys. 

She looked intensely at the five dollar bill that was now unequivocally hers. A sparkle of enterprise shone in her eye. A gleam of surprising pleasure. Petyr’s stomach twisted.

She took another hesitant sip. He dropped another five on to the table.

Her eyes went wide. The surprise of him actually putting his money where his mouth was. His blood was singing.

Another sip.

“Three,” he counted for her freely.

She liked that. He could tell. There was something innately pleased in the corners of her eyes and mouth. 

Another sip. Another five.

“Four.”

She took three sips in quick succession.

“Five. Six. Seven.” Three more fives added to the pile.

The thrill of her consent was a heady sensation. This might just have a chance at working, he thought.

She tipped the can back and began to drink a long steady draught of the soda, and for every swallow that caused her delicate little throat to bob, he dropped another bill on to the table.

Out the corner of her mouth a rivulet of brown liquid began to trickle - first over her chin and then down the pale column to her collarbone. She pulled the can away with a small gasp and a sharp drag of air. Her hand moved to wipe away the stream of soda that had escaped, but he stopped her just as her hand came to touch at the base of her neck.

“Wait!” he cried. 

She held herself still, watching him warily as he dug into his wallet, pulling out a twenty and holding it up for her to see. 

“Wait,” he said again calmly.

She did not move a muscle, and held herself completely still as the little drop of liquid gently found its path around the hollow of her throat, and down the delicate plain of her sternum, towards the valley of her breasts. Petyr watched the little moving bead with rapt attention - he barely breathed. He held the twenty in the air above the table like a racing flag, waiting to cross the finish line in three, two, one... 

Once the liquid disappeared between her breasts and under the fabric of her tank top, he released a long ragged breath he was holding and his hand let go of the twenty dollar bill, letting to float gently to the top of the stack.

Sansa sat like a timid doe, unsure of what she just witnessed. The sight of a trickle of soda travelling down a woman’s front was hardly what one would think arousing, but there Petyr was - panting as if he’d run a race - his eyes averted shamefully, and a full pile of money, hers for the taking just to let him have the pleasure. 

Mister Baelish was a weird man. 

“Is that it?” she asked hesitantly.

Petyr nodded his head, his gaze still kept low. 

“You may go if you wish,” he said quietly. 

Sansa stood tentatively, moving to pick up her money from the table. She scooped the bills with both hands to sweep them into the gaping maw of her shoulder bag like a victor revelling in their spoils. With his head still down he slowly slid his hand along the table to meet hers. The edges of their pinkies grazed - the first and only touch they would share this evening.

“Will you think about my proposal?”

She looked at the money in her hand and the man still sitting prostrate before her. 

“I’ll think about it,” she said, her face impassive, her thoughts hidden behind her wide blue eyes.

“You have my number?“ 

She nods.

“Send me a text when you’ve made your decision.”

He stares straight into her. A desperate man looking for a drop of life.

She nods.

“I will.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief and sags against the back of the chair. 

“Thank you.”

Sansa takes that as her dismissal and quickly and quietly walks out of the house.

When the door shuts behind her, Petyr, almost without thought, reaches down into the waistband of his pants and the hardness now fully formed there. He brings himself off right under the table, whilst the memory of her sitting there is still fresh in his mind, and his high is the most exquisite thing he’s felt in such a long time it almost brings tears to his eyes. 

Moments later, his wife and son burst through the door, and life goes on as normal. 

~~~~

“How was your day?” Lysa drapes herself over his back as he sits down on his side of the bed to untie his shoes.

“Uneventful,” he shrugs.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” she smiles, pressing a small kiss to the back of his neck.

“Mmm-hmm,” his mind is elsewhere. A small smile forms against his lips. 

“And what’s the cause of this, eh?” 

She tilts his chin up for a soft little kiss.

“Better not be another woman.”

She laughs. It’s a tease. He smiles easily and kisses her softly.

“Prospects on a new, and very fortuitous business arrangement.”

Lysa smiles airily and sits back on the bed, pretending she understood any of his work.

“That’s nice,” she says encouragingly, leaning herself against the head board and picking up her book.

He sets his shoes to the side of his night table and undoes his tie. 

“I’m going to have a shower.“

He brings his phone into the ensuite with him. The hot water feels good, and the still fresh memory of his afternoon makes his body tingle underneath the minty lather. 

When the water shuts off, he stands before the foggy mirror in nothing but his towel, examining the scar that bisects his lithe, toned chest. 

His phone lights up with a text - from her.

_When do you want to meet again?_

He smiles.

_Next Thursday work for you?_


	2. First Session

“Miss Stark.”

She brushes past him brusquely, head low, eyes averted. 

He suppresses a cheeky grin and closes the door.

The strap of her bag is hastily pulled over her head and plopped to the ground and her shoes kicked off without her even saying a word or bothering to look at him. Petyr stays by the door, watching.

“I only have an hour,” Sansa says firmly. Coldly, as an indifferent doctor to a needy patient. “I’m expected.”

Petyr bows his head. That was it then, his parameters set.

“Will you have a seat?”

Her sharp eyes finally catch him from under her lashes. That look alone was worth the contents of his wallet.

The clock ticks loudly on the mantle in his living room. She sits across from him in the large pastel blue reading chair. The entire room is awash in pastel blues and whites with gold accents. Her red hair pops like a large bloody stain against its sterile neatness.

She rests her hands in her lap, twitchy and unsure, and waits for him as he slowly maneuvers around the coffee table to the deep white chair opposite. Grey eyes fix on blue eyes.

“Sooo...” she pops her tongue. He makes a note to invoice her just for that delightful noise. “What do you want me to do?”

He smiles, tracing the seam on the armrest of his chair. He flicks his hands up in a non-commital gesture.

Her eyes dart about her as if any moment the floor might drop from beneath her. She starts a little when he moves to take a small notepad and pen from his back pocket.

“We’ll keep it simple, I ask, you name your price, and I’ll write it down.”

He dabs the end of the pen on the tip of his tongue, writing the date and time on the top of the fresh, lined page. He removes his phone from his pocket and places it on the coffee table between them.

“My time starts now,” he taps the start button on the timer. Counting down from 1 Hour.

Sansa draws her knees under her on the chair. Petyr see the white tips of her knee-high cotton socks and jots a note down on the pad.

“God,” Sansa laughs nervously. “I feel like I’m at the shrinks.”

Petyr chuckles softly. “You can take the businessman out of the office...”

Sansa smiles, a little less nervous. 

“Why don’t you grab yourself a drink?”

Her smile drops. The look in her eye shifts, darker; sharper. Petyr jots down on the notepad.

“Ten,” Sansa says. Boldly.

Petyr’s eyebrow raises in pleasant surprise.

“Ten it is,” he circles the number on the paper.

“Is that it?” her eyes widen in surprise. Expecting him to barter for every dime. He grins. 

“Grab anything you like. I’ll add two dollars extra if it’s got ice.”

“What if it’s hot?”

Her eyes are piercing him. His stomach quivers. 

“Depends on what you bring it in.”

Sansa’s mouth curves into the faintest of smiles, just before she launches out of the chair and into the kitchen. 

A singular wall separates the two rooms, and a peek-a-boo cut out allows him to catch glimpses of her as she moves about his kitchen with alarming ease. She must be familiar with the place after babysitting Robin, he thinks.

He makes note of every time her red hair peeks through the window, and when he hears the tinkling of ice against glass he smiles and jots down a number and circles it.

Sansa returns holding two glasses of orange juice, holding out one for Petyr.

“Here,” she says, with the barest teasing lily to her voice. “This one’s on me.”

Petyr takes the drink, his eyes never leaving hers.

“How generous of you.” He twirls the glass so the ice inside clink against its walls.

And just that like her previous shyness returns and she scurries away from him like a startled mouse, back to the safety of her blue chair.

He shifts, resting his head against his hand in an almost mocking show of ease. 

The two drinks sit on the coffee table untouched by either of them. 

“May I ask you a question?” he says after a moment.

She presses her lips together thoughtfully. 

“Five bucks a question,” she says.

He nods in acquiescence and makes a note on the pad. 

“How come during one of the warmest summers on record, and on one of the warmest days we’ve had so far, you are wearing thick knee-high white socks. With high-waisted shorts I might add.” Sansa looked down at her legs, at the three blood red stripes that ran across her shins. “Tell me, sweetling, are you trying to hide something from me...” Her eyes shot to him. “...or is it something you thought I might like?

Sansa swallows nervously, her nails digging into the folds of the upholstery, she averts her gaze. “With my bike...”

Petyr cuts her off with a chastising tut. “Don’t lie...I’ll deduct a dollar if you lie.“

“How do you know I am lying?”

“I’ve seen you ride that bike up and down these streets all summer. Up until now you have worn nothing but sandals.”

Sansa looks away from him, her cheeks gone flush.

“Plus, you’re a terrible liar.”

Her lips press down in a delightful little pout.

“Let me ask you a question Mr. Baelish,” she leans forward in the chair, causing the hair to fall down across her chest. 

“It’s will cost you, Miss Stark.”

Her eyebrows rose in shock.

“Five dollars a question. Fair’s fair.”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Alright.” She untucked her legs and placed them firmly on the ground. Petyr could not help the drop in his gaze from her eyes to those little red stripes. Uniform socks - from when she was at school.

“Why me?” Sansa spoke and his eyes returned to hers. 

The expression he found there was one of genuine curiosity.

“You could’ve asked anyone, any college age student, or professional who looked young enough. Surely Robin has other babysitters, why did you want me?”

Petyr’s mouth went dry. How could he explain? That as the first sight of her he’d been transported, that his body left the dull passionless plane it had existed in for so long and went back to a time, to another world, and another red-headed girl who could make his blood sing and his heart race. Why wouldn’t he choose her?

He coughs and clears his throat, leaning forward to take a sip of the juice in front of him. 

“It’s hard to explain,” his gaze averts from her, a hand coming to wipe across the bristling moustache atop his lip. “What can I say...you...you remind me of someone I used to know.“

His eyes flick towards her and he swears he will never know what she sees in them, what world of pain and loneliness, what drowning man is roiling in their depths - but he can see it in her own. The hardness cracks; her hesitancy melts, and the air moistens between them.

Her shoulders slump against the back of the chair. 

“Ok.”

That was all the answer she needed. Petyr’s mouth twitches, and something even deeper and darker twitches. 

Sansa Stark was beyond perfection.

Her hand moves to push her red hair behind her ear.

“Stop,” his voice rings like a clear bell. She starts, dropping her hand as though it would scald her. His voice softens. “Slowly, please sweetling.”

Confusion passes over her face only a moment. Blue eyes fixed on him, she lifts her hand once again and slowly combs it through her long red strands, letting them catch on the crack of sunlight peeking through gossamer white curtains. 

“Twenty,” she whispers, her white teeth catching her bottom lip in a succulent gesture of demureness.

Petyr nods, his gaze drawn to her mouth, to that lip, snagged on pearly whites; his chest moves heavily with his deep inhales. She combs her fingers through her hair again.

“Per ear,” she says, releasing her bottom lip with a shy grin slowly growing in confidence. Petyr’s hand clenches around the armrest.

“Done.“

Her lips form a sweet moue as she her hand comes up to her temple, agonizingly slowly, so much so her legs quiver with concentration. Her pale arm catches the light, causing her skin to shimmer like polished porcelain, another ten, twenty, thirty into her pot. It plays out in slow motion, the fingers like blunt claws scraping across the edge of her scalp to drag the fiery hair back behind the ear. Each ear with its delightfully rounded pink tip, and soft pale little lobes. 

“Will you take all your hair to one side?” he asks, his voice soft so not to startle her again. Soft, yet gravelly, as though the words were pulled from the pit of him. 

“Fifteen,” her mouth pulls into an unconscious smile. Was she enjoying this?

Petyr hastily reaches for the orange juice and swallows down another sip. 

Sansa’s red hair sweeps around the back of her neck, and the fountain of curls spill over the opposite shoulder.

“Now make a little plait.”

She holds up her hand, fingers spread. Five.

He nods.

Her fingers weave the hair slowly, watching him all the while. There was no hint of seduction on her face, no attempts to beguile or tease, simply doing what she was being paid for - with just a hint of almost childish curiosity. As though she had never considered what could be appealing to a man. Not that Petyr was an average man, even she, in all her inexperience, could tell that.

With the plait tied she drops her hands back into her lap.

Petyr sits in complete silence, his face unreadable. The confidence she had felt during the act began to wane somewhat - not that she knew what to expect from him after she was done - but he almost seemed displeased. Had she not done it right? Was he hoping it would be different.

The timer on his phone goes off.

“It’s seems are session is over,” he says, no emotion to his voice.

Sansa gets up to collect her things, her face burning hot, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Behind her, she can hear the soft chuffs of Petyr’s leather shoes on the floor as he exits the living room; wordlessly. She squeezes her eyes shut; this was so stupid...stupid, stupid, stupid, she berates herself.

After a moment, Petyr returns holding his wallet in one hands and his notepad in the other.

“So with everything, the hair, the drink, and deducting five dollars for the question, I believe I owe you one hundred and eighty, does that seem about right?”

Sansa’s mouth fell open. What she did couldn’t possibly be worth that much, could it?

“Mm, but there was that little thing you did with your shoes, should we count that? It was before the session but...I’ll let you decide.”

“Excuse me?” Sansa’s eyes blink rapidly. Her head is swimming.

“First session, you had a lot going on so...easy to miss a few things, but I made note of all the little extras you gave me.”

He holds out the notepad to her. The chicken scratch scribbles were near-indecipherable but the point was clear. He’d put a price on everything - everything.

“I did say I would pay you for anything you would give me and I am a man of my word.”

Sansa flicks her eyes from the notepad to him and the expression in his eyes made her lungs bottom out. Warmth set in those green eyes, warmth like the sunshine peeking through grey clouds. He was smiling, a small boyish smile - a little shy and self-conscious, but real. She had never seen him smile like that before.

Sansa nods. “One-eighty is fine.”

“No, you’re right. We’ll round up, make it an even two hundred.”

He reaches into his wallet and pulls out the cash, handing it to her without any preamble. When she reaches out for the stack, her hand accidentally brushes his - his touch is like being burned - and his hand does not immediately release the money to her, instead keeps her there with him. 

“Though you never did answer my question,” he says with a small grin. Different from before. “About the socks.“

A shiver ran down her spine.

“Why did you wear them sweetling?”

She swallows heavily.

“I wore them because...because you terrify me.”

His face drops so infinitesimally one might not have noticed - but she does.

“And because...” the tip of her pinky finger just grazes against his. “I thought you might like to see me in them.”

“Good day, sweetling,” he say, his face never moving aside from the darkening of his eyes.

“Good day, Mr Baelish.”

“Till Thursday?”

She nods. “Thursday.”

She takes her bag from the floor and gently lifts the strap over her shoulder; the money tucked safely into a deep pocket. One she replaces her shoes on her feet she is at the threshold of the door, ready to return to the normal world again.

She hesitates, and turns back to him.

“Though I have a free block tomorrow, if you're interested.”

With that, she leaves him, wide-eyed and gobsmacked in the middle of his front hallway. 

She walks back to her bike trying to hold back her triumphant smile.

~~~~

“Did your meeting go well today?”

Lysa pecks his cheek as she places his dinner in front of him.

Robin crinkles his nose at them in disgust.

“Surprisingly, it went off without a hitch.“

“That’s great hun, isn’t that right Robin? Aren’t you happy for daddy?”

Robin shrugs, disinterested.

Petyr reaches for his glass of wine and takes a large sip.

“Robin, sweetheart,” Lysa touches her son’s shoulder as she passes by him. “Once you’re done eating, why don’t you go to your room and play your video game with your headphones on.”

Robin looks knowingly at Petyr. Almost pitifully. Petyr gives his son a half-hearted shrug.

“Yes, mom,” Robin mumbles.

Once dinner is finished, and Robin and Lysa go upstairs, Petyr stays to collect the plates, taking his time to stack the dishwasher and to wipe out the pans. There were crumbs on the tiled floor, and the bin needed to be taken out, so he did that too. He even stops to pour himself another glass of wine before heading begrudgingly making his way up the long stairway up to the second floor.

Passing by his son’s bedroom, he peeks in to check on him, seeing him nestled in a blanket burrito with his hands sticking out to hold the controller.

“Goodnight Robin,” Petyr leans against the door jamb, cradling his wine.

Robin sticks his small head around to look at him. A half-hearted smile of encouragement.

“Good luck, dad,” he says.

Petyr sucks in a long breath and nods.

“Don’t stay up too late, will ya?”

Robin shrugs and puts his headphones on.

The bedroom is saturated with the scent of Dior and rosewater. 

The first thing he sees is Lysa lounging on their bed, doing her best Liz Taylor. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

Petyr puts his wine down on the dresser.

“What took you so long?”

He carefully slips his cuff links from their holes and places them in the bowl beside his wine glass.

“It’s that time of the month,” Lysa smiles toothily - what she thought was sensuously. “My oven is ready for one of your buns.”

Petyr takes another long, long sip of his wine.

“Won’t you come to me?” she holds out her arms.

He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his trousers and slowly comes towards the bed standing at the end with his shirt unbuttoned.

Lysa crawls towards him, trailing the hem of her rose gold silk night gown on the mattress behind her.

“Uhh, I’ve missed you,” she sighs.

“We sleep next to each other every night.“

“I wasn’t talking about you,” she reaches her hand down to cup his groin. “I was referring to him.”

Petyr closes his eyes, willing an image to spring into life. The long, red hair, her neck...those socks. He begins to stiffen - or at least produces a semi. Lysa smiles, pleased.

“Come here,” he jerks his head.

She purrs like a cat, slithering into his arms. He could do this, he could give her what she wanted, he could, he was capable.

They kiss. His wife’s tongue slithers into his mouth; it’s warm, yet it lacks heat. Her nails scratch against his throat, his chin, the back of his neck, but it did not spark that interminable itch. Not the way a simple can of soda had.

What the fuck is wrong with me? 

With a growl he hoists his arm under her leg and lifts her up off the bed. Lysa squeals against his lips and wraps her other leg around his waist. 

He just needs to do it, that was all. Stick it in, go through the motions - like riding a bike, wasn’t it? 

He carries his wife the few steps to the wall and slams her against it. Their kiss breaks off with her gasp. 

“Oh yes, baby, do it!” she cries.

He blindly reaches his hand between them to tear her knickers off with a violent rent, and situate his cock between her dewy thighs.

“Ooh you’re an animal!” she moans, clutching his back.

He slams his eyes shut and pushes in.

“Ahh yes!!” Lysa shouts, throatily.

He squeezes his eyes tighter, trying to drown her out. All he had to do was think - think of her. Of the way her fingers moved through her hair, how she chewed on that bottom lip, how she looked at him when their hands brushed. 

He thrusts with a singular determination.  
That’s it, he could do it. He could make love to his wife - just like he used to - despite the overwhelming smell of her perfume and how it did not capture the innocent smell of peaches and cream. Or lemonade. He bets she tastes as pure and sweet as lemonade. The real stuff - freshly squeezed.

Petyr groans. It was working - it was beginning to feel good, almost. He just needs to hold on to that image a little longer. Her throat as it bobbed over every swallow, those eyes, blue wide, endless; the way she said his name Mister Baelish...Mister Baelish...Petyr. 

_“I have a free block tomorrow, if you’re interested.“_

_“Oh I’m interested. Oh hell am I interested!”_

“That’s it baby, that’s it! Pound me, Petyr! Fuck me!”

He growls, picking up the pace of his thrusts.

Lysa pulls her hands through his hair, kisses his jaw. It was almost nice, almost...

“Finish me on the bed, will you?” She whispers against his ear. “So that I can take the baby.”

And just like that he loses it. The pleasure he’d begun to feel dissipates, and his cock goes instantly soft - unfinished - he slams his hand against the wall.

“Baby?”

He gently lowers her to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Petyr hangs his head.

Afterward, Petyr takes a long moment in the bathroom staring at himself, looking at the lines forming on his face and the scar down his chest as he brushes his teeth, trying to distract himself.

“It’s alright you know,” Lysa leans against the en-suite door. 

He raises an eyebrow.

“The whole performance thing. It’s not uncommon in a man you’re age.”

Petyr winces, closing his eyes. 

“Baby, I don’t want you feeling sorry for yourself, just because you haven’t been performing as well lately. It’s perfectly normal. The girls and I have been talking about it.”

His eyes widen.

“Not about us! About men...of a certain age, and how it happens, especially when they are on the verge of fatherhood.”

Petyr spat.

“I’m already a father.”

Lysa sighs. “You’re a step-father - and an excellent one at that - but it’s different when it’s your own child, believe me. It will be different. And I know you’re afraid, but you don’t have to worry. Doctor Jill still says I have plenty of time to get pregnant. I’m healthy, I eat well, I’m in the best shape of my life. We can have this baby, Petyr. I want to have your baby, I want to give you everything.”

She leans over and kisses him.

“Now come to bed. Tonight, you get to be the little spoon.”

Petyr gives her a dry peck.

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

Lysa smiles and nods, leaving him.

He fishes out his phone from his pocket, bringing up her in his messages.

_Still free tomorrow?_

He waits a tense minute for her to reply.

_1:30pm._

He breathes out a sigh of relief.

_Thank you_, he prays to himself, _thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is loosely inspired by the film The Piano (1992). Very loosely. 
> 
> Aww Petyr is having a hard time performing. I’m sure Sansa will be able to help with his “problem”. Te hurr te hurr.


	3. Second Session

Sansa let herself in at the back door, through the kitchen.

“Wow, sweetling,” his breath leaves him at the sight of her.

Her hair long hair done up in a tight little bun; the body suit, the pale pink skirt, the leggings.

“It’s for my dance class.”

He’s tempted to take out his wallet right now.

“How long do you have?” 

“An hour and a half.”

He pulls out his phone and sets the timer.

“Go.”

The outfit is a great inspiration to him. 

“Will you stretch for me?”

Her mouth quirks up in a little smirk.

“Anything in particular you have in mind?”

“Just do your normal warm up routine. At your own pace, like I’m not here.”

A small shiver descends the back of her neck. Like she wouldn’t be able to notice; his stare was like pins and needles over her exposed skin. 

“One hundred,” she says after taking a calming breath.

“Only a hundred?” his eyebrows raise teasingly.

“Do you think I should charge more?” her eyebrows crinkle in a delightful manner. 

He smiles. “Here, I’ll make it easier on you. Blanket one hundred fifty as a flat fee and I’ll make note of any extras.”

She considers his offer for a moment then bobs her head in agreement. “Deal.”

He makes himself comfortable in his white chair while she moves a few things in the room around to make enough space for her to work in - aware the entire time of the scratch of his pen on paper, and the tick of the clock on the mantle.

“Ummm...” she begins to say, now standing in the disassembled living room feeling a little on display - naked.

“What is it sweetling?”

“Can I have some music?” her hands fiddle with the hem of her dance skirt. She looks almost like a child with her hair done up so and her long neck so bare and exposed. “We usually put on some calming instrumentals when we warm up, and I guess I’m just used to it. Feels weird without it. Helps me get out of my head.”

Petyr clicks his tongue. Why not? It was a simple enough request to make, and it’s not like this arrangement was solely for her to bend herself to his tyrannical whim. 

“I can play something on my phone...”

He raises his hand to stop her; she did not have to explain herself. In fact, it sparked an idea in him.

“One moment,” he quickly darts out of the room into his study down the hall. 

A moment later he returns to Sansa in the living room who was already making herself comfortable in the hardwood floor. In his hands carried a portable turn table in a small brown case and a series of records.

“We have Mozart, Chopin, or Bob Dylan.”

She laughs. A delightful noise.

“Dylan is tempting, but not really fit for ballet.”

“Chopin then?”

She smiles so her eyes glitter.

“That will do.”

He puts on the record and returns to his chair, scratching a few notes on to the notepad. 

Sansa begins stretching sitting upright with her feet touching, lifting her arms above her head and curving her torso over her hips to the floor beside her. 

Petyr watches in fascination; the little peeks of skin at her collarbone ripple with her precise stretches, the thick cord of muscle in her thigh tightens then releases, tightens and releases, a veritable feast for his eyes.

She curves to the other side and holds the pose.

“You like to look, don’t you Mister Baelish?”

“Ah, ah, ah, questions cost, remember?”

“Go ahead, deduct me five dollars.”

Her second session and she was already getting cheeky. 

“I mean, that’s what the whole point of this is, isn’t it? So you can watch.”

He rests his chin in his hand as she curls forward over legs and reaches her hands in front of her, stretching to the very tips of her fingers.

“Does my watching bother you?”

She lifts her head.

“If it did, I wouldn’t be here.”

His mouth twitches.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m just curious, is all.”

Sansa uncurls back to sitting and stretches hand up over her head, causing her sternum and in turn her breasts to push against the clinging fabric of her body suit. Petyr wets his suddenly very dry lips.

Sansa tilts her chin to sneak a look at him. 

“I mean, most guys like you seek the attention of younger girls, but they sure as hell don’t want to just look.”

Petyr runs a finger along the seam in the upholstery of his chair.

“You think I’m like most guys?“

“Well, obviously...” Sansa stretches her long legs in front of her and researches over them to grab her bare, cute little toes. “Obviously, you aren’t.”

He grins, but hides it behind his hand as best he can. 

“I’m just wondering why watch? Why not find a mistress or a sugar baby like a normal dude, or buy a motorcycle. That’s what my dad did.”

He muffles a noise into the palm of his hand. 

“Are you offering, sweetling?”

She gives him a look. He laughs.

“Fine, don’t answer me. Keep your secrets. Just for that, I won’t show you my pirouette.”

He laughs again.

She stands bending over to touch her toes again. 

“I just don’t know what you get out of it, that’s all.”

Petyr trails his eyes along her periwinkle bodysuit, where the faint blue melds into the baby pink of her tights.

“At first I thought you’d watch me, you know, with a hand down your pants, like a right pervert.”

“Did that excite you?”

She stands up fully, with a scolding frown on her face.

“But instead you just sit there, staring at me, like...”

He leans forward, intrigued.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m omitting something. A smell, or a light that I can’t see. Like you’re a solar panel, and I’m the sun.”

What an apt metaphor, he thought.

“You’re more intuitive than you let on, Miss Stark.”

“I grew up in a house full of boys, and parents who say everything to each other in glances. One has to be intuitive if one wants to get any information.”

“There’s something more to it though, isn’t there? This whole, good girl next door persona you put out to the world. There’s more to you than that.”

Sansa stops in her movements and looks at him.

“I am good.”

“You’re exceptional.“

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Except this.”

She swallows, suddenly looking nervous.

“It’s a good money and I need it.”

“You could get a job tutoring little Jimmy and Jane Nobody for seventeen bucks an hour just as easily.“

“I do that too.”

“At least it’s honest money. How did you tell good ole mom and dad about the two hundred dollars cash you brought home the other day?”

Her face falls. “I didn’t...” 

The music skips, breaking the tension between them. Petyr leans over to stop the record.

“I’m sorry sweetling,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean...it was not my intention to make you feel...” he groans. “I’m sorry, can we...can we begin again?”

Sansa picks at one of her nails, looking even more so like a scolded child. 

Petyr closes his eyes, cursing himself.

“Please sweetling, please go on. I would very much like to see you dance.”

“Four hundred,” Sansa says after a long, drawn out moment of silence. 

The sound of her voice is such a relief to him that he nearly laughs. 

“Ok, I deserve that.”

His eyes flick to hers and he catches her gaze under her eyelashes, her mouth vainly trying to suppress a smirk.

He puts the music back on and she positions herself at the sideboard, to use it as a balance bar.

The awkwardness of their previous conversation forgotten, Petyr loses himself in the long extensions of her legs, and the perfect points of her toes. Her movements are graceful and strong. Clearly, she’d been practicing ballet for quite some time. 

“What’s your favourite ballet?” he asks.

“Sweeney Todd,” she says without hesitation.

“I believe that’s a musical.“

“I saw it done as a ballet once. I liked it much better. Everyone likes Giselle, or Swan Lake, because they’re classic and romantic. Girl loves guy, guy loves girl, shit happens, it all ends tragically.“

Sansa speaks effortlessly as she mindlessly moves her arms and legs in tandem with each other.

“But I rather like the character of Sweeney. His actions could easily be read away as just his revenge for everything that was done to him, but I don’t know, he’s more complicated than that. For whatever he says, he wants more than what life has to offer him and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to see that he gets everything.”

“Everything?”

Sansa looks at him pointedly. “Everything.”

Petyr’s mouth twitches again.

“I mean, it also ends tragically for him too, but he tries.”

Petyr chuckles. 

“Better than fucking Giselle. Giselle finds out the guy she’s in love with is just some manipulative skunk who’s betrothed to someone else and can’t deal with it so she just ups and dies. What a drip.”

Petyr laughs.

“And then in the second act he gets haunted by all these ghosts of pissed off virgins who got dumped at the altar being all blehhh, blehhh, blehhh...” 

Sansa dances around the space, acting out the scene of the maidens, albeit with some rather unique choreography. Twirling around and splaying her hands, and kicking her feet up in a ridiculous manner, spurred on by Petyr’s amusement. So carried away with her performance she kicks too close to the coffee table, smacking her foot on the edge and losing her balance, tumbling to the floor. 

The needle is bumped off the record just as quickly as Petyr launches to his feet.

“Sansa!”

Sansa lies flat on the ground laughing - embarrassment and hilarity rolling into one. Her arm lies dramatically splayed over her face to hide her reddening cheeks.

“I’ve made a fool of myself,” she giggles.

“Are you alright?” Petyr exhales in relief.

“I think so. Just my pride. It might not recover.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” Sansa laughs dropping her arm. “My foot smarts a little, but I think it’ll be fine.”

Petyr leans down to look at her foot, seeing the faint red mark on her big toe where she had struck the table. Sansa wiggles her toes to emphasize that she is alright. Petyr breathes out, happy to know she did not injure herself during her fall. 

A stray pink string catches his eye, leading his gaze up to a small run along Sansa’s calf.

“Oh sweetling, you have a hole,” without thought he puts his finger to the small opening, touching her delicate skin. 

Sansa jerks slightly under his touch. Petyr feels a spark run up his arm straight and back down again. Her skin, even such a small patch of it, was soft as hell.

Their eyes met.

Sansa’s tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Mr Baelish.”

“Perhaps you are right Sansa,” Petyr’s own tongue escapes briefly to run across his mouth. “Perhaps I’m not wholly content just to watch.”

Sansa swallows thickly. 

“Fifty.”

Petyr purses his lips and nods.

“But only there,” she says firmly. “No where else.”

Petyr smiles and nods.

“Will you continue to dance?”

“How much longer do I have?”

Petyr looks over at his phone.

“Plenty of time.”

“Alright then, help me up.”

~~~~

And that is how things continue for their next few sessions. 

Petyr and Sansa fall into a bit of a routine. She shows up in her dance outfit, Petyr helps her clear the living room and set up the turntable. Initially it starts with her stretching and warming up, and eventually he joins her on the floor to find the run in her stocking, waiting for just the right moment to gently lay his finger over the little patch of skin there. 

Sometimes Sansa does bar work at the sideboard and he lies on his side at her feet, touching her through the hole whilst she does the foot work on the opposite leg. He likes to watch the small pink skirt as it billows with every movement. 

Eventually she begins doing her warm ups before she arrives so that she is ready to dance as soon as enough space had been cleared for her. 

“May I touch you here?” he asks one day as she does her work at the sideboard - in reference to the back of her neck.

“Seventy-Five,” she says, not breaking her form.

Petyr smiles, gently running the pads of his fingers up and down the back of her neck. Over the bumps and ridges of her spine, up into the edges of her hairline. Faint, feather-like touches, neither pressing, nor holding, nor grasping. Just the sweeping of his hand across the soft blonde peach fuzz, and the warmth of him tingling along her back side.

After that, she lets him touch her shoulders, in the same manner - then her collarbone, and her hair, and the tops of her ears. He touches them all as gently as though she would break. And then she lets him touch her throat. 

He traces her pale column with just the edge of his pointer finger, causing goosebumps to trails in its wake. Standing behind her, sliding one hand down her arm in correlation to her movements, never breaking contact, while the other cups her throat, right over her pulse point, feeling her as she breathes, as her heart races. Like a sensuous dance, but only one of them was dancing.

She didn’t always dance though. Even though she knew he preferred it when she danced, sometimes she likes to mix it up a little. Keep him on his toes. 

Sometimes she brought her homework to do. She was part of a summer program so that she could get a head start in some of her classes in the fall. On those days they would set up in his study on the floor, her books all around them and he would watch her as she studied. Sometimes content just to watch, sometimes not - mostly not.

Those times the quiet between them was so thick and warm she could almost dip her head and fall asleep. His stare makes her skin itch, his hands made it warm and tingly, his eyes stir darker feelings. But the line between them is always carefully drawn, isnt it.

Isn’t it?

~~~~

“Your wife tells me you’ve been having a spot of trouble lately.”

Lysa looks at him apologetically.

“I’ve never been better,” Petyr says tightly.

“In a lot of ways that’s true,” Lysa chirps in. “Petyr has been having a lot of successes at work, and we’ve both gone on a juice cleanse which has done wonders. And we’re both in the best shape of our lives, medically speaking.”

The doctor nods, making some indentations on his bright yellow legal pad.

“It’s just the one area, he seems to be having a bit of difficulty...”

Petyr grits his teeth.

“I’m ok with the idea of having children, it’s just a bit of a mechanical issue.”

The doctor taps his temple thoughtfully.

“The root cause is not always the fear of fatherhood in and of itself. Sometimes it’s about what the fear of fatherhood represents. Whether that be an emotional responsibility that perhaps you don’t feel equipped to take on right now, or perhaps just the fear of the unknown. It’s not uncommon especially in men your age.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” Petyr growls.

“All I’m saying is that maybe there’s something else going on Petyr, something that’s preventing you from being able to make love to your wife.”

~~~~

Petyr slams the door behind him when they get home.

“Holy shit!” 

“Petyr!” Lysa hisses.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Language, Petyr, do you want Robin to hear you?”

“You lambasted me to that hack!”

“I did not,” Lysa had the gall to look indignant.

“You might as well have asked him to fill out a prescription for viagra while you were at it.”

“He was just trying to help, Petyr.”

“Well we don’t need his help. I am perfectly capable of producing a child on my own, I do not need his help.”

“Petyr, you’ve been flaccid for nearly a month now, something is wrong with you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me, it’s just all this pressure, all this scrutiny, every time I get in bed with you, I can feel it, gnawing away at me, your desperate need to get pregnant and I just need a little fucking SPACE!!”

~~~~

_I have something a little different in mind for tomorrow._

Petyr sat alone in his study, cradling a glass of wine in one hand and his phone in the other.

_Shall I wear my dance outfit?_

He smiles.

_No._

_What do you have in mind, Mister B?_

Petyr swallows thickly, placing his wine down on his desk and slipping his hand down the front of his pants.

_What are you doing?_

_Getting ready for bed._

He grunts, his mind already flitting across several ideas of what that could mean.

_Would you describe it to me?_

He was already hard in his hand, it wouldn’t take much, just a sweet mental image.

_Forty._ She replies.

_Fine._

He waits for her response.

_My hair is down, and damp from my shower. I’m wearing an old grey night shirt I’ve had for years. It’s comfy in all the right places. My bedroom is the same way it’s been since I was thirteen. Ballet posters, fairy lights, purple fabric hanging from the ceiling. I’ve always wanted a canopy bed, so I made one lol. And my underwear is red._

Petyr comes on his hand as soon as he pictures the flash of red fabric between her legs. He sighs heavily for a moment, taking great care to clean himself with a handful of tissues before picking up his phone again.

_Goodnight sweetling._

He gulps down the rest of his wine. 

Shows that doctor - he doesn’t need any fucking viagra.

~~~~

“Alright, I’m here, what’s on the docket today?”

Petyr smiles at her though he keeps a careful distance away.

The space between them is painfully obvious to her.

“Is everything ok, Petyr?”

His mouth rolls.

“Can we sit...off the record for the moment if that’s alright?”

Sansa felt a slight unease. “Ok, something’s up.”

Petyr sits down in his chair and sighs. 

“I wanted to ask this of you before we put the timer on just in case this...” he searches for the word a moment. “...request...in case it’s too much for you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to stay.”

Something flutters inside Sansa’s stomach. “Okay...”

Petyr swallows heavily. 

“I would...I would very much like to...” he wipes his forehead. Was he sweating? 

“Just spit it out,” Sansa nearly shouts, the anticipation killing her.

“I want to watch you bathe.”

Her eyes widen.

“What?”

Petyr groans covering his face with his hands.

“I know it’s a bit of a leap, but I...” his eyes meet hers. 

Sansa’s mouth goes dry.

“I do,” he says softly, nearly a whisper. “Very much.”

“You want to watch me...”

“Yes.”

“Without anything...no clothes...”

“Yes...if you are willing.”

“You want to see me...”

“Look Sansa, I swear. Just watching, I’ll sit as far away as possible. I’ll give you a thousand.”

Sansa’s eyes widen even more. “A thousand?”

He runs his hand through his hair.

“You have no idea...” he sighs defeatedly. “...what it’s like with her.”

Sansa’s mouth falls open.

“She just takes and takes and takes, every god damn day. She lacks any sort of warmth, of comfort, or beauty. Real beauty.”

“Mister Baelish...”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to, that’s not...that’s not what I’m after. It’s just, for the sake of honesty I had to put it out there, you know. That’s what I want. It’s up to you...if you want to.”

Sansa blinks her eyes, suitably stunned by Petyr’s strange sort of confession. It was too much, certainly. _She couldn’t possibly..._

She stands up quite suddenly, her mouth and brain unable to work in tandem. 

“Excuse me...” stumbles from her mouth and she quickly exits the room out the back door. 

Petyr drops his head into his hands, squeezing his eyeballs into the heels of his palms. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

And just when she was beginning to trust him too...and now...what the hell was he going to do?

His head immediately snaps up when he hears the back door open, and her soft footfalls on the ground.

“Ok,” Sansa stands before him, hands squeezed into tiny white fists. “I’ll do it.”

Petyr’s chest heaves as he let’s out the breath he’d been holding. It takes all his effort not to fall at her feet and weep praises and thanks into her knees. 

“How do i...” she shifts her weight awkwardly. “What do you want me to do?”

Petyr takes her hand and gently leads her up stairs - a loose hold, so that if she lost her mettle and decided she couldn’t go through with it she knew she could run away and he wouldn’t stop her. She had to know that she was the one in control of his fate, not him.

He led her into his bedroom and closed the door.

“I’ll uh...get you a towel,” he disappears into the bathroom, eyes purposefully averted from her, to fetch a fresh towel from the linen cupboard. 

Sansa stays standing in his bedroom, mouth ajar in wonder. She’d never been in his bedroom before. It didn’t look at all like she’s imagined - if she had been imagining his bedroom that is. It was flowery, and smelt heavily of baby powder and a woman’s perfume, whereas Petyr smelt clean and of warm mint. 

“Here,” Petyr hands her a green towel. “I’ll run the bath, shall I? And you can change out here...and when you’re ready...”

Sansa nods her head. 

“You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to Sansa, I’ll understand. Our arrangement can stay as is.”

Sansa bit her lip and shook her head. “No, I...I want to.”

He can’t quite hide the relief on his face.

“Ok.” He smiles - it’s genuine. “I’ll get the water running then.”

Petyr looks at himself in the mirror for a long moment, looking at the lines and the line on his chest where he knows his scar to be. What fortunate god and he pleased in order to be blessed with such an angel? Who was smiling upon him?

It didn’t matter, here was his chance and he was going to take it. He gave his reflection an affirmative nod and set about filling the tub with warm water. 

As he waited for the water he sat on the toilet with his chin in his hands contemplating what was to come, and how he was going to play it. Certainly it was just like any other task he had asked of Sansa, the rules clear, he was paying for the pleasure of seeing it, he would let Sansa dictate what she was comfortable enough with him seeing.

A gentle rap at the door.

His heart quickens in his chest.

“Come in.”

The door opens and Sansa appears, draped in nothing but the towel.

“Sweetling...” his mouth falls open.

She blushes from her cheeks down to her collarbone. She should earn fifty bucks alone for that sweet pleasure.

She closes the bathroom door behind her, taking a hesitant step further into the bathroom - closer to him.

“Will you put your hair up for me, Sansa?” Her fingers come up to touch the loose strands of her hair that end just above her bosom. “I want to see your neck.”

She shivers.

“I don’t have a hair tie.”

Petyr rummages into one of his wife’s drawers, finding some bobby pins and a bright pink scrunchie.

Sansa delicately plucks the scrunchie from his hand and looks at it thoughtfully.

“Thirty,” she said after a moment, her eyes lifting to make contact with his. 

It has gotten to the point where he doesn’t even have to nod in agreement, she has named her price and he is willing to pay.

She put her hair up into a messy top knot, leaving the shorter strands of her hair to fan down the back of her neck like little wisps of fire.

She gingerly makes her way to the tubs edge and dips a foot in - the action shows off her lovely pale leg, then the other.

Petyr’s hands clench over his knees as he watches her. 

Sansa takes a delicate seat on the rim, with both feet in the warm water. She sips a hand in to cup some in her palm and sprinkles a little bit over her legs. 

“Mister Baelish?”

Petyr swallows heavily, giving a strained sort of cough in response.

“How much will you pay me to remove the towel?”

Her are a deep blue and wickedly mischievous under her long lashes.

Petyr could feel sweat beginning to form in his lower back.

“H-how much?”

“I could bathe with the towel on, of course, but i think we both know that you would prefer me without it.”

Petyr’s throat bobs.

“What makes you feel comfortable sweetling?”

Her mouth twists into a teasing smile.

“But I want to know what it’s worth to you.”

Petyr sits up on the toilet seat and clears his throat with a fist pressed to his mouth. 

“Three hundred,” he says, his voice abnormally weak.

Sansa bites her lip and looks down at the water then back at him.

“Ok.“

She stands, turning to face the tiled wall, her back to him. One hand removes one corner of the towel, the other hand takes the other, holding the towel away from her body but taut to still hide it from his view. The muscles in her back ripple towards her shoulders in order to maintain her grip. 

Petyr remains affixed to this display, like a child to a luscious candy apple.

Sansa peeks over her shoulder to him, to make sure he is watching, then releases one corner of the towel, so that the screen melts away and the only thing between her body and his gaze is space.

Petyr is stunned into silence. Sansa was a veritable feast for his eyes, the long sweep over her perfectly arched neck, down the over the soft creamy toned muscles of her neck, and the sweet little bumps and ridges that made up her back and ending in the perfect round swells of her ass, and the tantalizing shadow of more beyond.

Petyr’s heart bottomed out into his stomach. The control he had maintained in their previous sessions strained against this bounteous gift. So much so that, to his embarrassment, his body began to respond.

Sansa lowers herself into the water, still facing away from him - the front of her still a tantalizing mystery. 

“Do you have a sponge?” she asks, her voice soft and shy. 

Petyr reaches into the bottom cabinet in search for a loofah. Lysa keeps bags of them on hand, being a bit of a self-spa addict. He finds a fresh one and tosses it into the water. 

“And soap?”

Petyr feels a jolt of blood shoot downwards.

He again finds several bottles from Lysa’s long abandoned collection. 

Sansa sniffs the tops of the bottles to find a sent she likes, and pours a generous amount on the loofah, and splashed water upon her back to wet herself. Her skin glistens. 

Petyr leans back against the toilet tank, his lips pressed tightly so they roll and pucker.

Sansa works the loofah into a lather and spreads it on to her skin in smooth even strokes. 

“Am I doing it right, Mister Baelish?”

“You’re doing just fine.” 

“Would you like to see my breasts?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, barely above a wheeze.

Sansa turns, revealing her front. Her breasts, covered in foamy white streaks, the rosy pink nipples peeking from underneath the bubbles. 

It’s a glorious sight, more glorious than he ever could have dreamed of. 

Sansa’s brow furrows. She wasn’t sure what to expect from him, but he looked as though he were in pain. Then she notices the significant bulge in his trousers. Ohhhh....

She looks up from his crotch to his eyes, seeing the impossibly dark look there.

“Sansa,” he says, slowly, drawn out and measured.

“It’s ok, Mister Baelish.”

“Please, for just this moment Sansa, call me Petyr.”

Sansa licks her bottom lip.

“Petyr.”

His body snaps taut.

~~~~

Petyr cannot look at her as he hands her the envelop full of money. 

She still smells of the soap she used, faintly lavender and citrus. 

“This is too much.”

He has given her over two thousand.

“Just take it, you’ve earned it.”

She bites her lip. Petyr steps back from her, trying to maintain a formal distance - despite all the lines they had already informally crossed. He’s embarrassed, she realizes with a bit of relish.

“I guess I’ll just have to work it off then,” she says with a teasing sigh.

Petyr finally looks up at her, shock and awe clearly weir on his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

He nods, his mouth curling into a small smile.

“Bye,” she waves. _Petyr_, she thinks.


	4. The True Line

“Mister Baelish?”

Petyr looked up from the magazine in his hands.

“Are you Petyr?” the nurse smiles kindly at him from behind her clipboard. “You’re here for Lysa, aren’t you?”

Her smile is a practiced and patient one. The waiting room in the clinic is virtually empty aside from another, younger man, flipping through an edition of Men’s Fitness with a barely concealed smirk on his face.

Petyr clucks his tongue. “That would be me, yes.”

“Come with me, wont you?”

The room is sterile and clean, with a television and a chair better suited for a dentists office or a gynaecology exam rather than today’s purpose.

“There are movies already programmed into the tv, if you like, or there are magazines in the side table if that’s more your style,” the nurse says effortlessly and hands him a cup. “Fill her up, best you can.”

Petyr sits down on the hard leather chair with a sigh, staring at the clear plastic container as though it were laced with poison.

_I can’t fucking believe my life has come to this._

He turns the tv on and sees his selection. _Pussy Kebab. Banged on the Beach. Creampie Heaven._ He turns the tv off. The magazines are not much better. _Big Tits Big Ass. Hot Dornish Hoes. Naked and Obeyed._

Petyr presses the heels of his hands into eyes. 

_Goddammit Lysa..._

How was one supposed to get aroused by this? 

He flips through the nearest magazine randomly, page after page looking for a spark. A little pique of his interest. He was a young man once, he still had it in him to get hard from a dirty magazine. He drops the one in his hands and picks up another one, drops it - and another one, and another one.

_Oh hell! _

Petyr drops his head into his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between thumb and forefinger.

_Fucking fuckity fuck fuck! I can’t do this, Lysa, I just fucking can’t!_

A bit of red catches his eye through his fingers. One of the magazines he’s dropped to the floor has fallen open on a section titled Innocence and Experience - and right under the title a woman is perched delicately on an older man’s lap, all clad in soft white lace and sweet baby blue...

And her hair is _red._

~~~~

“I heard that your session down at the clinic was successful,” Lysa slides into their bed next to him.

“Mm hmm,” Petyr doesn’t look up from his book.

Lysa leans over and kisses his cheek. “Thank you, darling, thank you so, so much for doing that. For me. For us.” She plants another kiss on his shoulder.

He eyes her over the corner of his book.

“You know all I want...all I’ve ever wanted, was to have your baby again.”

Petyr sighs, setting the book aside.

“I know.”

Lysa kisses him, softly, the way she had done when she was a girl. There is a bitter tang of salt at the edge of her lips. His wife pulls away to hide her face in her hand. 

“I swear Petyr,” she hiccups. “I won’t lose him this time, I’ll be a good mother.”

Petyr pulls her into his arms and holds her until her shoulders cease to shake and her eyes empty out on to the fabric of his pyjama top. It’s a rare moment - of simplicity, of shared suffering, of beauty...it does not last.

Lysa pulls away and dabs at her eyes as though nothing happened.

“Oh, I went out and got your suit pressed.”

“Huh?” Petyr scrunches his brow in confusion.

“For the Back to School PTA dinner, darling.”

“Oh.”

“Sansa has graciously volunteered to help out at the event. You know, Robin’s babysitter.”

Oh he knew.

“How lovely.”

“I’ve picked out your suit to go with my dress, and a matching one for Robin. We’ll be the most perfect little family.”

Lysa kisses his cheek once more.

“Oh, I forgot to ask. How’s that new business arrangement working out? You’ve barely mentioned it all summer.”

“Swimmingly...Just swimmingly,” Petyr says, then shuts off the light.

~~~~

“You’re awfully quiet today.”

The sound of her hand playing in the water is amplified by the bathroom tiles and his silence. He doesn’t want to ruin the peace he feels in her presence with mindless chatter. 

Sansa gives him a soft smile. She’s becoming more more comfortable around him - doing this - and aside from that first time, he’s been able to remain in control. 

_This is enough_, he thinks, _it has to be enough, otherwise..._

“What are you thinking about, Petyr?”

“Things,” he says, his voice soft and low.

“Care to share with the rest of the class,” she gestures to the empty bathroom, teasing him.

He smiles. “It’s not important.”

“Is it about your wife?”

Petyr’s eyes turn to flint. “What have you heard?”

“I’m your babysitter, Petyr, sometimes she just says things in front of me...you know, without actually saying them.” 

Petyr’s mouth puckers in that way he does when he’s choosing his words carefully. She’s noticed this before...she notices everything about him. He tries to hide it by trailing his eyes over her breasts - taking in the rosy pinks of her aureolas and the quivering soft swells of her navel and ribs. 

“Did you have a fight?”

Sansa watches his eyes come back up to hers, heavy lidded, but his expression remains carefully masked.

“I don’t want to talk about my wife, Sansa.”

She licks her lips.

“What do you want to do then?”

Petyr wipes his palm on the leg of his trousers. The steam from the bath was warming the room, causing him to sweat a little. 

“I’m really fine, Sansa. I’m happy.”

Sansa can’t help but let out a small scoff. “Fine. If you say so.”

“Am I boring you, sweetling?”

Blue eyes fix on him from under her damp lashes. 

“No.” Her fingers fiddle together in her lap. “It’s just...”

“What, sweetling?”

She chews her lip thoughtfully. “You seem sad.”

Petyr exhales softly through his nose. Sansa can’t help but feel she’s disappointed him. “It’s not because of you, Sansa, you’re...”

“Yes?” Sansa lifts her chin eagerly. Petyr pulls at the inseam of his trouser leg.

“You’re perfect.”

She bites her bottom lip to hide the way the corner of her mouth lift. “I wish you’d show me.”

Petyr’s mouth runs dry. “What?”

“I know, Petyr. I know you don’t just want to sit there and watch. You act as though you don’t but the way you look at me says otherwise.”

“Sweetling...“

“What is it Petyr? What keeps stopping you? What are you denying yourself?”

Petyr’s mind flashes to a memory of red hair and blue lace. He swallows thickly.

“Maybe I...” Sansa hesitates, biting her lip. “Maybe I am ready to give it to you.”

Something coiled deep inside him snaps. His last remaining tether is cut. Though his body doesn’t move off the toilet seat, Sansa can sense the shift in him.

“I want to touch you,” he says. 

“What would you like to touch?” she responds.

“Anything,” he says on a breath.

Sansa shifts closer to the edge of the tub, one corner of her mouth curling upwards, a curious smile.

“My breasts?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. One hundred-fifty.” He reaches for his notepad to jot down their agreement. Sansa pushes a few strands of stray damp hair from her neck, hiding her thrill of triumph behind her hand. 

“One hundred fifty?” Petyr dabs the pen on his tongue, always so concerned with the numbers. 

“Mm hmm,” she nods, then adds with a teasing lilt, “Per breast.”

His eyes flick to hers - a new crack in the mask. Hunger.

“Petyr...” she was sure if he continued looking at her that way she would blush all the way down to her breasts.

“Let your hair down, please.“

She does, unraveling the loose bun so her hair tumbles down to cover her soapy bosom. 

“Fifty,” she mouths.

Petyr doesn’t respond. With one knee he lowers himself from the toilet to the floor, so they are at eye level. His notepad lies abandoned on the bathroom counter. 

“Sit up straight.”

She complies again. The natural arch of her back causes her chest to push out to him invitingly. “Do you want me to...” she touches the ends of her hair, but her cuts her off.

“No. Don’t move.“

She drops her hands. She knows this game by now. 

Petyr swipes a hand over his face, groaning internally. _God, help me..._

He crawls towards her on his knees - slowly. There is only a few feet of space between them, but it might as well have been a mile.

_ God, help me, she is wondrous._

“Don’t move,” he says again, his voice impossibly dark but gentle. He settles himself comfortably on his knees before her and raises his hands slowly to the dampening ends of her hair, allowing them to twirl and entwine in his fingers. His eyes close, memorizing the feel. So soft, and blood red, and living. He lets the hair slither out of his hands like snakes, and his fingers move upwards to her sternum, placing a gentle touch to the centre of her chest. Sansa jolts a little at his touch - not from fear, but excitement.

He gauges every small reaction before continuing, dragging the faintest edge of his finger upwards to the hollow of her throat then down the line to the top of her diaphragm where her body disappears under the water. The hand retracts. Gooseflesh has broken out in the wake of his touch, and he finds the pebbling of delicate skin to be mesmerizing. 

Both hands come up then, to part her hair like two sides of a red curtain, peeling the two halves slowly away to reveal her breasts in tandem. Such beautiful little things, even more so up close. He slowly pulls her hair behind her shoulders; knuckles grazing each soft, bony peak, until they meet around her neck - so close to her now that she thinks he might kiss her.

He does not though.

“Perch your hands on the rim for me,” he whispers huskily. She does so without question, groping blindly for the feel of cold porcelain. “Keep them there for me, sweetling.“

He moves his hands away from her neck, back across her shoulder, down her sides, until the palms of his hands just graze the underside of her boob. They cup gently, testing each breasts weight in each hand. Sansa’s breathe judders a little.

“Oh sweetling, I’d hoped...” Petyr hangs his head in shame. “I’d hoped you would never have to see me like this. I tried so hard to keep the line between us tightly drawn, for you, Sansa, to protect you...”

As he speaks one hand moves gently upwards to cover the centre of her breast with his warm palm.

“...but now that, that line has been so clearly erased,” he continues, eyes closed, luxuriating in the feel of the softness and the damp. “I’m afraid, it’s only going to get harder for me to resist.“

He squeezes her firmly; not hard enough to hurt, just enough to cause her to emit a startled yelp.

His opposite hand leaves her breast to dip in the water for a brief second. He splashes a handful of warm water over the nipple to clear away the white sud, while the other hand continues to grope and knead. Sansa marvels at how he touches her so reverently, even as he plays and tweaks each nipple; he never paws or pinches, but worships, just as he has done with every other patch of skin she has allowed him to touch. Granted, those innocent touches paled in comparison to the raw heat of this. 

Petyr watches his hand as he worries the nipple of one breast, brows scrunched in concentration as it hardens into its peak.

_It isn’t enough, it’s never enough._

He leans down towards the breast but catches himself. If Lysa were to walk in on this there would be no going back - no way to explain his actions. This was it, the true line.

Then Sansa moans. 

Her body is pulled tight like a bowstring, and her hands are clamped firmly over the white rim of the tub; eyes closed in restrained bliss. In that moment there is nothing he wants more than to see her break.

_Screw it_, he thinks, and places a kiss to the top of her breast.

Sansa’s eyes shoot open.

“Petyr?“ Was that an admonishment; has he gone too far? “We haven’t set a price for that?” An eager fire dances in her eyes.

“I don’t care,” he grazes the skin with the tip of his nose, breathing in the scent of her, uttering: “You are worth every penny,” before enveloping her nipple into his hot mouth and sucking. 

~~~~

“Hi there, handsome,” Lysa appears at his study door holding a glass of his favourite Dornish Red. “I have a surprise for you.”

He smiles, amused.

“May I come in?”

He nods.

She places the glass of wine in front of him and makes herself comfortable on his lap. “You have been so good to me,” she places a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “So good. The perfect husband.” She trails a series of kisses up to his favourite spot behind his ear. “So good, in fact, that I think you deserve a treat.”

Petyr grins, playing along. “Ooh, What do you have in mind, dearest?”

Lysa pulls back with a coy little grin. “Well, I’ve been talked to Uncle Ness about taking Robin in for a couple of days, which he is willing to do.”

Petyr’s eyes narrow. “Okay...”

“And while Robin is away...” 

“Mmmhmmm?” _Where is she going with this?_

“I thought you and I could get away. I have a friend who has this gorgeous Chateau up in the mountains. Killer views, a jacuzzi tub all for ourselves and no cell service. I can book the flights tomorrow and we can go up there for the week, get back in time for the PTA party, what do you say?”

Petyr’s blood ran cold. _A whole week...away...without her..._

“No.”

Lysa blinks, surprised. Had she misheard him?

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

Her smile fades as her arms drop from around his neck. “Why?”

Petyr sniffs and sits up in his chair; effectively booting her from his lap. “Now is not a good time.“

“How is it not a good time?” 

“It just isn’t.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Lysa’s voice raises, hotly.

“I’m working, Lysa!”

She scoffs, moving away from him.

“What is it, Lysa? You know I’m working. I’m providing the roof over your head, the means for your lifestyle, the things you enjoy, I’m giving you a goddamn baby, what more do you want from me!”

Her mouth falls open.

“I am not saying we will never getaway, I’m just saying not now. I can’t leave now, I...” he breathes in deeply, stopping himself from saying it. “It’s too important. Please Lysa, we’ll go another time.“

He looks at her, pleading.

“Ugh! You’re impossible!”

She turns on her heels, slamming the door behind her.

~~~~

He can’t believe she’s here.

“Welcome Sansa!” Lysa kisses her on the cheek in greeting.

“Mrs Baelish,” Sansa replies genially. “Mr. Baelish,” she avoids his eyes.

Her hair is let down and ironed straight, the longer end at the front pulled back into two little braids tied together at the back; she is wearing a lemon yellow sundress.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Sansa gestures to a young blonde man beside her. “This is my boyfriend Harry.”

Petyr’s stomach turns to lead.

“Nice to meet you,” the lad reaches his hand out to Petyr. Petyr takes it and squeezes it, a bit harder than he meant to. “Ow, killer grip man.”

“Sorry.”

He is not sorry.

Petyr catches Sansa’s eyes and she’s see it, the burning. 

“Well, go on in, grab a drink,” Lysa continues to play the dutiful host.

Petyr is stuck at her side greeting their guests as they enter the house, and Sansa and Harry are soon pulled away by Robin, eager to have someone to play video games with.

“Oh Lysa you hold the best Summer’s End parties, and then you have the PTA Welcome dinner coming up, how do you manage?”

Lysa snakes her arm around Petyr’s waist. “I couldn’t do anything without my hubby’s amazing support.”

She leans up to kiss him.

It takes an hour into the party for him to slip away from her and into his study.

“Hi.“

She’s already there. His heart stops st the sight of her.

“What are you doing here, Sansa?”

He closes the door.

She looks downcast at his harsh tone. He softens.

“I mean, I thought you were with Robin.”

“I left him with Harry, told them I was going to get a refill.”

At the mention of her boyfriend’s name, the bitterness resurfaces. 

“Oh yes, _Harry_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing...you’ve just never mentioned that you had a boyfriend.”

“It wasn’t relevant, and you never asked.”

“Sweetling...“

“Don’t call me that here.”

Petyr stares at her with flint in his eyes. “Are you trying to torture me?“

Her mouth falls open. “Me? I’m not the one with the wife, Petyr.”

“Why did you come here sweetling?”

“I was invited.”

“You know what I mean. Why did you come _here?_”

Sansa bites her lip. “I wanted to see you. Didn’t you want to see me?”

Of course he did!

“Not like this, Sansa, not with..._him_.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “What is this, Petyr? What am I to you that you should be so jealous?”

He is taken aback. Jealous? Was he jealous?

“All summer, coming to this house, and doing what we’ve done...I’ve spent so much time with you and I still feel like I don’t know what you want,” she wipes at the corner of her eyes. “And what’s more I don’t think you do either.”

She sniffs, covering her face with her hand for a moment.

“I think we should stop this Petyr...”

Something inside him plummets.

“Sansa, please,” he grasps her arm.

“No,” she shirks him off her. “No if we continue like this i’m just going to get more confused and you...I don’t even know what you’re thinking, but I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

She pushes past him to get to the door and leaves him bereft.

~~~~

“There you are!” Lysa catches him leaving the study.

“Sorry, I had to have a small conference.”

Lysa waves it off. “The kids are showing off their cannonballs in the pool. I’m going to go change into my bathing suit, won’t you come?”

Petyr looks out the sliding door window and sees the lone lemon dress standing amongst a sea of blue.

“I’ll be there in a moment dear, I just have a quick phone call to make.”

Lysa disappears with a shrug. 

The kitchen is completely empty of people, everyone is either outside in the pool or making themselves comfortable with their drinks on the veranda. From where Petyr stands her back is facing him- she is watching Robin demonstrate his swimming lessons to her - the boyfriend is no where in sight.

He pulls out his phone and dials her number; moments later she is fishing her phone from her little yellow purse.

_Hello?_

“Don’t turn around, don’t hang up, don’t do anything at all, just let me say something first, please.”

She doesn’t move.

“You’re right,” he says, lowering his voice. “You’re right, sweetling, I am jealous. I have no right to be, but I am.”

Her head turns, scanning for him in the crowd of guests in the backyard. Their eyes meet and she sees him, half obscured by the glass and the door screen. 

“Don’t look at me, just nod and act natural.” She turns her head back around. He exhales a breath he’s been holding. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you like that, but when I saw you with Harry, this young handsome guy...and then you said he was your boyfriend...I realized something.” He swallows heavily. “All this time you’ve been wondering what I’m after, why I approached you all those weeks ago and started all this. You keep asking me what I want and I can’t tell you - I know you think it’s because I don’t know what I want but the truth is...“ he let out another controlling breath. “The truth is I’ve known all along what I want. It’s no surprise, sweetling, I’m an unhappy man, in an unhappy marriage. We pretend that it is, Lysa’s practically deluded herself into thinking that it is, which is why she is so fucking obsessed with having this baby, and not once has she stopped to ask what I want, what would make me happy...though she wouldn’t like the answer if she knew.”

Petyr’s heart thumps. Sansa remains stock still at the edge of the pool.

“It’s you, Sansa. You are what I want. All of this, our arrangement, it’s all been a pretence, to delude myself into thinking that I could wean myself off you and return to my marriage a happy and complete man, but I can’t. I want you like no man should, sweetling. I want you each and every way I can have you. I want to bury my hands in your hair, and leave kisses on your eyelids. I want to touch you where no one else will ever touch you, feel you as you shiver and shake, and fall apart under my fingers. I want to suck on your breasts until you squirm. I want to listen to your heart beat as it quickens, and your breath as it falls. I want you in my house, in my study, in my bed, in my clothes. I want to wake up and see you sleeping there beside me. And I want to see my cock disappear inside your cunt while you scream my name.”

Petyr sucks back a controlling breath as he feels himself strain against the crotch of his trousers. Clearly affected, hopefully she was too.

“So, there you have it. Everything I want, all of it, in all its gory detail. If I have frightened you, I’m sorry, and I completely understand if you don’t want to see my face ever again. But I had to let you know. It’s up to you, it’s always been up to you, whether you want me too or not.”

For a long moment there is nothing but silence on her end. Petyr closes his eyes and clenches his fist, praying: _Please, please, please._

He hears someone calling for Sansa over the line - his eyes snap open to see Sansa, still with her back to him, and her phone in her hands.

_“Ok,”_ she says. She turns to him and catches his eye. _“Tomorrow.”_

She hangs up the phone.

~~~~

As soon as Sansa arrives the next day she goes immediately to his bedroom, removing her clothes on the way up.

Petyr has already filled the bathtub with hot, soapy water. Sansa is naked and in the tub before he can even undo to buttons on his shirt. He puts down a thick towel by the tub and makes himself comfortable once more, on his knees.

“Robin has a lesson today. They’ll be gone for hours.”

Sansa sits up to meet him touching her hands to his bare chest, dribbling water into the patch of dark hair there. The scar on his chest - she’s never seen it before, very few people have, it’s not something he enjoys reminiscing on. “Another day, sweetling.”

She nods in understanding.

He presses an open-mouthed kiss to her sternum; her hands immediately slide into his hair, dampening it. 

“About Harry,” she murmurs into his ear as he kisses her collarbone. “He’s not actually my boyfriend. He’s just a guy I know who was willing to play along.“

Petyr groans, attacking her breasts with his mouth; laving, and nipping, and sucking the nipples to form peaks. It lacks the tenderness from before, his touches this time are urgent and needy. She has burst a dam within him and now there was no stopping the flood.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, his mouth leaving her with a succulent pop.

“Yes,” she says without hesitation.

Their mouths meld together in a flurry of tongues and teeth and lips. It is unlike any kiss she’s ever experienced- at once tender and biting, and hungry and sweet. He cups her face and presses the length of her naked body against him, skin on skin. Her fingers grasp on to the lapels of his open shirt and drag the fabric, as best they can, over his shoulders and off his body. It was her turn to touch, to explore, to learn him just as intimately as he’s learned her. Her slippery wet touch on his back spurs him on, closer to her. She leans further and further back, unbeknownst to him, too consumed in drinking in her sighs, he doesn’t realize how precariously perched over the rim of the tub he is until one small slip and he falls face first into the water with her. 

She laughs, tugging him in the rest of the way until he is fully submerged and wet.

“That was dirty,” he wipes his hand over his face, spluttering water.

Sansa kisses him. “Don’t worry, I can get you clean again.”

He launches at her, uncaring of his semi-clothed state. The resulting inertia causes a wave of water to break over the edge of the tub and on to the bathroom floor. Sansa shrieks in delight, which quickly turns to moans as his lips descend on hers - his wet trousers are a delightful contrast to her naked skin. Hands tangle into hair, limbs wrap and entwine; their bodies just fit together in the limited space of the tub. His hips rock against hers in a deliciously teasing motion. They rut against each other in a pool of shallow water, and fading soap suds.

Sansa arches into him invitingly.

“Tell me how much,” he grunts against her. “Tell me.”

“Five thousand.“

It’s the first number she can think of - it doesn’t matter, the money is arbitrary at this point.

“Done,” he shifts a hand down to the buckle of his trousers.

“Not here,” she sighs. “Take me to your bed.”

He wastes no time; wrapping her legs securely around him and hoisting his body up with her in his arms. He carries her out of the en-suite bathroom into his bedroom and drops her on the bed. His body leaves her only for a moment as he struggles to remove his wet trousers, and soon he he standing before her completely naked.

“May I?” he asks, cupping her breast gently.

She nods, biting her lip. The hand scours her skin from collarbone to navel, his hands spread her legs wide and he lowers his face between them, breathing her in. 

“Has anyone ever eaten you out before?”

She shakes her head.

“So I’m to be the first?”

She nods her head.

He drops his head down and kisses her abdomen. Her belly quivers.

He looks up at her, pleased. Kisses again. 

She sighs, rocking her hips involuntarily, needing something, needing him. He kisses up her inner thigh on one leg and down the other, he gives her a little bite on the innermost corner that makes her jerk a little. He grins, smugly.

Oh, she was perfection, and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

He plies her lips apart to see her fully. Well-groomed, delectable, glistening with moisture - and not from the bath. His tongue darts out for the tiniest of tastes, just on her clit, and she jumps with a little sigh. Heaven. 

He licks the full length of her and she cries out. “Petyr!”

The blood rushes straight to his cock. He latches on and sucks on her whole-heartedly - from the tip of her nerves to the edge of her hole, eating her out like he hasn’t done since his twenties. He’d forgotten how sweet it could be, being this close to the core of a woman, feeling each twitch of the chords of muscle in her legs playing against the side of his head. The sweet shy whimpers, and the screams of ecstasy when he hit a good spot.

Sansa scratches her nails against his scalp and grinds herself against the hard protrusion of his nose. This was his heaven, Petyr was sure of it. 

Her thighs were starting to give that tell-tale quiver; he lifts his face from between her legs, causing Sansa to mewl in frustration. Her cries quickly abate when he crawls up her body to meet her for a hungry kiss..

“Sweetling, I want to...I want to...” he says between the desperate drags of lips and tongue. She can feel his desire growing between them.

“Yes, yes, Petyr...”

He reaches between them for his cock, positioning it against her opening when...

Voices. Downstairs. Voices downstairs.

“Petyr! We’re back!”

Cold fear shoots through him. Lysa and Robin have returned home. They weren’t suppose to be back this soon. 

“Shit!”

“Petyr,” Sansa clings to him, fearfully. “What are we going to do?”

Petyr looks around the room, his mind racing.

“Petyr!” Lysa shouts from downstairs. 

His freshly pressed suit hangs on the back of the closet door. He has an idea.

“Take your clothes and run into Robin’s room and get changed, quickly. And plait your hair.”

Sansa nods, climbing out from under him.

Petyr hurriedly removes his suit from the garment bag and throws it on in a flash.

As he descend the stairs he plasters on an easy smile. “You’re home early.”

“Robin’s teacher had to reschedule. So we went out for snack instead. I thought you might be working and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I didn’t call.” Lysa notices what he is wearing. “Why are you wearing that?”

Petyr clucks his tongue. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me.” Petyr takes his wife’s hand. “It was supposed to be a surprise for when you got back.”

“A surprise, for me?”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t go on our little getaway trip, but I thought I could make it up to you tonight, and treat you to a date night.“

“A date night?“ Lysa smiles widely. “Oh Petyr, that’s lovely...but what about Robin, I can’t possibly get a babysitter at such short notice.“

Petyr smiles. “I’m way ahead of you, darling. Sansa!” Petyr calls up the stairs. Lysa’s eyes widen. “One moment, darling.”

Petyr ran up to the second floor. 

“Sansa, come downstairs.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just trust me, sweetling.” 

Sansa reluctantly follows him to the living room. Petyr only hopes that she is able to forgive him for what he is about to do.

“Hello Mrs Baelish,” Sansa awkwardly greets his wife.

“Surprise,” Petyr gestured with his hands like a magician revealing a trick.

Lysa gasps and runs into him, embracing him. Behind her back, Petyr mouths “sorry” to Sansa. Realization has yet to dawn on her, but the hurt and confusion in her eyes is enough to cut him.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Lysa wipes a tear from her eye. “What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man,” she kisses him. “Oh dear, I have to...I have to get ready...I have to find something to wear...Sansa thank you so much, I’ll be sure to have Petyr leave you some money so that you and Robin can order a pizza...oh, I’m flushed,” she kisses Petyr again. “I’m the luckiest wife in the whole world.” 

“You sure are,” Sansa mutters.

Lysa heads upstairs to get ready, leaving them alone with each other. 

“I can’t believe you,” Sansa’s face is red with anger. 

“It was the only excuse I could come up with.”

“So you’re going to have me babysit your kid after you and I...after we almost...”

Petyr rubs a hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, alright? I’ll pay you double your rate, I swear, I will make it up to you.”

She looks down at her shoes, biting her lip. “Ok. You better,” she catches his eyes through her lashes - smiles.

An hour later Lysa finally descends from their bedroom dressed fully for a night out in a beautiful coral dress that matches perfectly with Petyr’s dark blue suit.

“Ok, we shouldn’t be out too late, but if we are we will text to let you know. You know the drill, pizza, not too much soda, bed by ten o’clock if at all possible. It’s almost the end of summer, time to get back on our school time sleep schedule, isn’t that right sweetie?”

“Yeah mom.”

Robin is already camped out in the living room with Mario Kart.

Lysa smiles at him and turns back to Sansa.

“If anything happens you have all our emergency contact numbers, and of course, you can text Petyr should anything else arise.”

Sansa looks at Petyr - he looks knowingly back at her.

“Thank you so much for this, Sansa, you are an angel. Petyr and I desperately need a night just the two of us, so you are a godsend.”

Lysa kisses her cheek.

“Alright, I have everything, shall we?” She looks at Petyr.

“You go, get in the car, I just want to say something to Sansa, real quick. Just some clerical details.”

Lysa rolls her eyes. “Always the business man. I’ll be in the car. Toodles!”

Petyr waits until she is out of sight before pulling Sansa into a dark corner and kissing her soundly. 

“I’m sorry for this sweetling. Please forgive me.”

“I do.”

“I just know if Lysa found out...if she even suspected...you would be in danger of Lysa’s wrath. And I can’t let that happen, you must know, I can’t have her hurting you.”

“Why?”

Petyr’s thumb gently grazes her cheek.

“Because if she did anything to hurt you, I know I would kill her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be the last chapter except I wrote too much, so I guess imma have to write y’all another one to wrap things up.
> 
> *UPDATE*  
I made a small (read rather large) edit, just to fix some parts of this chapter I was not content with - trim the fat as it were. Carry on, my lovelies.


	5. A New Era

“Oh Petyr...” Lysa clutches at his back and sighs. Her breath is cool and moist in the dark, and she smells heavily of toothpaste and overly floral shampoo.

It’s the third night in a row - he’s trying!

The evening of their impromptu date night, he is semi-successful - he manages to remain hard enough for Lysa to come blissfully in a series of high-pitched moans - but when it comes to his own release, it requires a few more minutes of tugging with his own hand and repetitious replay of the afternoon - what almost was.

The night after that is less successful. He tries flipping her over and burying himself in her backside, but her hair is the wrong shade of red - artificial - and her curves are not quite as sumptuous and vivacious. He manages to finish her off with his fingers.

Tonight is a total a disaster.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. His hands fist the pillows, he tries to hold on to a singular thought, an image - that day, when she was draped over his bed, and he was between her legs, how he’d been.

But then Lysa moans again, and it shatters.

Not even the dark can drown her out - the images can not block her out - everything about her just feels _wrong!_

“That’s it, baby, right there, you know what I like...” Lysa resorts to dirty talk. It’s not working. 

Petyr clamps a hand over her mouth causing her to squeak in surprise. 

“Shhh,” he picks up his pace, slamming his eyes shut. Just a little bit more then this whole fucking ordeal can be over with she can have her precious baby and he can be left in peace.

He presses down, pumping harder. She grips his shoulder frantically, voice muffled by his palm. 

He can’t do this. He releases her.

“For fuck sakes, Petyr!”

He removes himself from her and slinks away to the far end of the bed before she can flick the bedside lamp on.

“What the hell was that?” she’s terrified.

“I’m sorry, I just...”

“Your hand over my mouth, I couldn’t breathe. You’ve never...”

Petyr got up from the bed, throwing on his clothing.

“Where are you going?”

He grabs his car keys from the dresser.

“Petyr!”

~~~~

“Have you ever driven out to Lover’s Point?”

_Do you realize what time it is?_

Petyr feels a strange sort of relief hearing her voice. 

“I haven’t come up here since I was a teenager.”

_You sound weird, are you ok?_

“This is where it happened. My scar.”

_Petyr?_

“You could say I’ve always had a thing for redheads. She was always the girl I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. It obviously didn’t turn out that way.”

_Petyr, where are you?_

“You reminded me of her, you know, in the beginning. You have the same quality about you as she did - the same strange ethereal innocence I’ve been trying to recapture my whole life. When I first saw you, I saw it, and I immediately knew I had to have it. I started this whole thing in the hopes that I could use you to reclaim what I had lost...at least, that was my goal at first...but I soon came to realize that what you have, what you are, far surpasses the girl of my teenage fantasies.”

She exhales.

_You’re not talking about Lysa, are you?_

“I want to consume you, all of you Sansa, for my own.”

He hears her breath hitch, and it’s all he can do not to run to her.

_You can have me._

His heart clenches.

“I can’t see you anymore, sweetling.”

He hangs up.

~~~~

Lysa adjusts his bow tie.

“You look so handsome.”

He gives her a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

She doesn’t notice, too busy rubbing a wrinkle out of his waistcoat.

“Robin, are you ready yet?” she calls outside the bedroom to their son. He is wearing a matching suit that compliments her dress. “My boys look so dashing.”

She kisses his cheek.

The drive to the school is short and silent. Robin sits in the back with his Nintendo Switch in his lap and his head phones on, oblivious.

Lysa places her hand on his knee as she always does.

_This is for the best_, he thinks, _it has to be. _

They find parking and Lysa fishes out the tickets.

His heart stops the moment they enter the gymnasium. 

“Oh Sansa!”

She is seated at the table collecting tickets into the dinner. 

The whole gym has been decorated exquisitely with balloons and streamers and large round tables with crisp linen table cloths and large centrepieces. 

Lysa’s annual event for the PTA - the back to school dinner. 

Robin has already run off to join his friends. 

“Mrs. Baelish,” Sansa smiles at his wife but not at him. He aches.

“Quite the turn out don’t you think?”

Sansa nods, ducks her eyes.

Lysa is immediately distracted by one of the other ladies on the PTA, leaving them alone.

“Hi Sansa,” he says, choking on the restraint. Seeing her again - he just wants to run into her. “You look lovely.”

And she does. A soft blue dress, and her hair curled and pinned up in a soft side bun. She is breathtaking.

“Petyr!” Lysa calls.

“Your wife needs you,” she says, her voice edged with bitterness.

His stomach drops.

~~~~

“Have you met our dear Sansa?”

Lysa tugs her into the circle. She is standing unbearably close.

“She has graciously volunteered her time to help us with the dinner. She’s our babysitter.”

“Oh is she good?” one of the ladies says.

“The best, isn’t that right Petyr?”

He looks at her.

“Undoubtedly. There is no one else like her.”

She finally meets his eye. That same endless shimmering blue. He wishes to drown.

“Our Robin simply adores her,” Lysa continues. “She’s been babysitting for us all summer.”

“Ahh,” someone leans back and nods their head. 

“We could use someone like her ourselves,” someone else chimes in.

“Unfortunately she’s leaving us for University soon.”

Petyr looks away.

“Congratulations, higher education is always admirable,” a hand reaches out to shake hers.

A burning rises from his stomach to seethe at the back of his throat.

“Oh Sansa, we’re due to start speeches soon, would you make sure the cake is ready?”

“I can help her,” Petyr says. Lysa turns to look at him, an eyebrow slightly raised.

“Would you, dear?” 

He smiles.

“I’d love to.”

~~~~

He follows her out of the gymnasium down the florescent hallway to the cafeteria.

“Sansa wait,” he gently grasps her elbow and tugs her into an alcove. 

They are masked in shadows, and pressed together - an intoxicating closeness. It feels like it’s been years since he’s touched her.

She kisses him. He can’t help groan into her lips - he couldn’t lie and say he never wanted to do that again. She would know he was lying anyway. 

“Sweetling...” he pulls away.

“Two hundred,” she breathes against him, pressing their foreheads together.

His chest pulls almost painfully - both from her proximity and the fact that he had to push her away.

“No, I...” he tries to exhale, but her hands are distracting him with their firm but purposeful grazes. “I just wanted to explain...”

She cups his face and kisses him again. 

“You don’t have to.“

“Yeah, I do.”

He grips her shoulders gently applying pressure - enough to make her stop. 

Her face falls. 

“You’re really ending it, aren’t you?”

His mouth puckers - the words stuck behind his lips. 

“Oh god,” she recoils - as if the spell has been broken. She wasn’t kissing the prince, she was kissing the good for nothing poisoned toad.

“Sansa please, I never intended for it to go this far.”

Her hand presses against his chest - his scar - to keep him at bay.

“Why do you keep hurting me like this?”

He takes her hand and kisses the knuckles.

“You said you wanted all of me, and I gave it to you, and now...” she chokes on the words. He reaches his hand up to wipe the tear escaping down her cheek.

“All I ever wanted was to watch you dance, and bask in the glow of your youth and beauty. That’s all I was ever meant to have.”

She looks up at him with those large doll-like eyes - wide and endless and oceanic.

His heart breaks.

“I never meant to make you a whore,” he whispers - pained.

Her hand connects harshly to his cheek.

“You fucking coward.”

She pushes away from him, scrambling out of the alcove and into the bleak school hallway.

“Sansa...”

“Don’t follow me!”

He does.

“I can do this on my own I don’t need your help!” she cries.

He follows her into the cafeteria kitchen where the cake sits waiting on a trolley. It is already cut and read to go. 

Petyr grabs her about the waist, hauling her into his arms.

“No! No! Let go!” she swats at him. “Let go of me right now or so help me i’ll fucking scream.”

He ignores her protests, covering her mouth with his hands as her cries start to rise in pitch - he hoists her off her feet and drags her into the pantry.

“Ah!” he hisses when she bites down on his palm. He slams her body against the door.

“You fucking bastard!”

“I am, I am.”

“Why would you say that to me, why would you ever say that to me!” she kicks at him as best she can, writhing away from him, even as their bodies fit closer together against the hardness of the pantry door.

“It’s Lysa, can’t you see? Every moment with her it’s like I’m suffocating, choking the life out of me. And I can’t do the same to you. I thought if I kept things clear cut between us that I wouldn’t drag you down into my filth, but the line keeps getting pushed further and further back and I can’t have you wind up like her. Every dollar I paid you drew you closer and closer in.”

Their mouths suddenly connect, neither knowing who had leant in first, or who initiated it, but they were soon overwhelmed and frantic with it. Her fingers prying at his short buttons, his hands pushing up the hem of her dress. 

He needs her, god, he needs her.

He carries her over to the chest freezer at the far side of the room and heaves her on to it, spreading and stepping in between her legs. His pants unbuckled - her panties hastily pushed aside - their was no time to waste on teasing. 

She drew his cock out of his neatly pressed trousers and into the warmth of her hand, moving over him just enough to get him hard. He groans when the head of him grazes the slick moisture of her slit. He has to grip on to a pipe when she bumps him against her clit and her breath catches.

“Do it, do it!” he shut his eyes and hisses. He was completely at her mercy, as he always was.

She places him at her entrance and he glides in with a deep, throaty moan.

“Ohhhh Sweetling...”

“Fuck me!” she sighs.

He gives a shallow thrust, and he is buried in her up to the hilt. Another tether snaps within him. She is too glorious - he was a fool to think he’d be able to stay away.

“I want a life free from her, with you, ohhhh it was only ever meant to be you,” he releases his grip on the pipe so he can entwine his fingers in her hair.

She leans back on to her elbow, opening herself more to take him in better. His next thrust brings them tighter together. 

“We have to be quick,” she whispers into his ear. “They’re expecting the cake any moment now.”

He nods, picking up his pace. 

This was not how he envisioned fucking her would be like. Not in fancy dress on top of a freezer in a school pantry anyways. It was dirty, and hot, and so, so close, but she felt more amazing than he ever could have dreamed. This is what they would’ve had that day had Lysa and Robin not returned so early. 

Sansa whimpers, clutching the back of his neck. 

“Oh Petyr,” her eyes close in bliss.

Petyr slows right down so he is barely moving at all and leans down to kiss her.

“Ten dollars for every thrust,” he mutters against her lips. Smiling when her eyes flutter open in surprise.

The corner of her mouth quirks upward.

“Until when?”

He kisses her again. “Until you come.”

She nods, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip.

He adjusts his grip on her hips, and gives one strong deep thrust. Sansa reaches for the floating shelf to have something to grip.

“Count them out, or I won’t keep track,” Petyr groans, preparing himself for another harsh thrust.

“T-t-Ten,” Sansa squeaks out.

His hips snap forward again, her knuckles go white.

“T-twenty.”

“Ohhh fuck,” he cries, thrusts again.

“Agh! Thirty!”

“Good girl, such a good girl.“

Again.

“Fffffforty!”

She tugs on his hair. He thrusts again.

“Fifty! Fifty!”

“Almost there, sweetling. One more!”

“Sixty!”

“Fuck again!”

“Seventy! Agh, ah ah, one more!”

He slams into her with all his might.

“Eighty! Faster, faster!”

“Sweetling!”

He gave her two sharp thrusts in quick succession.

“Ninety, a hu-hu-hun-unghhhhhhh!“

And she’s gone. Her hole body shakes in exquisite bliss, fluttering and clenching all over him as he thrusts with abandon, until he begins to feel that delicious pull in his groin, the sharp, pointed hotness signalling his demise. He pulls out of her quickly and with three firm yanks comes all over her cunt in thick streaming spurts. 

He is sure it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life.

Weak, he collapses into her embrace, savouring the moment as best he could.

Their time was short, soon they would be expected to return back to the party with the cake, and to act like they hadn’t just furiously fucked one another.

They kiss. Soft and sensual - memorizing the feel of lips they have each pulled such sweet sighs from, sweetened by her ecstasy and his passion.

“It was never about the money, you know,” she whispers against his lips.

He did know - he’d always known.

“I love you, Sansa.”

~~~~

Petyr Baelish never thought it would be so simple. 

In his mind he imagined the moment would come as the bitter denouement to some grand fight, the words punctuating the scene with righteous indignity...but in the end it was not like that at all.

It was a nice day actually, an average day like any other. The last truly summery day of the season. 

They were all together sitting at the dinner table. Lysa filling up their plates with homemade bolognese and Waldorf salad, Robin sitting quietly with his iPad. They were happy, they were laughing.

She tops off his glass of wine. 

The words just tumble out.

“I want a separation.”

Lysa drops the bottle, it shatters.

~~~~

A business connection gives him a lead on a great apartment, downtown, two bedroom, en-suite bathroom, an office - great view. It’s not so far that he can’t visit Robin every so often. It’s also fairly close to the University. 

It takes a week for him to settle the arrangements and pay his security deposit. 

He packs the last of his stuff out of their bedroom.

Lysa enters, sits on the bed. 

“Is it because of the baby?” she asks.

Petyr hangs his head.

“It’s because of a lot of things,” he says softly. “I just need some time.”

She nods, lowering her head so he won’t see her bottom lip quiver.

“Hey,” he drops the item in his hands and sits beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Shhh, no, no, it’s alright,” he coos, letting her cry into his chest.

“I don’t understand,” she sobs. “I thought we were happy.”

He kisses her cheek and strokes her hair. 

“I don’t understand why you’re leaving me,” she hiccups.

He sighs. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

~~~~

The apartment is fairly sparse. He hasn’t had time to buy decorations or any little personal touches to fill them books and crannies. They will come soon enough.

For now he breathes and the air seems lighter - untainted by mists of Chanel, and lavender rose water body cream. 

He opens a bottle of wine and pours himself a glass.

A housewarming present from one of his associates.

“Lucky bastard,” he remembers the man muttering under his breath.

The view is utterly fantastic at night - such a shame to have to view it alone.

He pulls out his phone. 

He texts her the address.

Twenty minutes later he hears a knock at his door.

He smiles.

“Hello Mister Baelish.”

“Hello Miss Stark.”

He steps aside to let her in.

Sansa whistles. “Sweet bachelor pad.”

“You like it?”

She grins at him.

“Well, it does have a nice view.”

He laughs.

“Though it’s a bit bare,” she gestures to the mostly empty living room. All that’s in it so far is a couch and a rug.

“For now,” he shrugs. “But I have some ideas.“

“Really?” she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Mmhmm,” he nods and clicks his tongue. “Some book shelves, a nice table, that sort of thing.”

Sansa nods, her mouth pressing together to hide her disappointment. Petyr smiles.

“Along that far wall though, I’m thinking would be a great place for a ballet bar.”

Sansa looks at the wall, then back at him, her face split with a wide grin. 

“You mean it?”

“I do.”

She squeals, launching herself at him and kissing him.

“I love it!“

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him again. 

“I’m glad sweetling. Because it’s for you, it’s all for you.”

They kiss again, her tongue sneaking into his mouth and her teeth nipping at his lip. Sansa grabs ahold for of his belt loops and begins leading him over to the couch, pushing him on to it.

“Soooo, what first?” she smiles shyly, playing the nervous virgin, even though her eyes gleam at him wickedly.

“I would like to see you dance for me, sweetling...to start. Name your price.”

Sansa grins, pulling her hair back into a bun. “Eighty.”

“Ooh, she’s gone up since last time.”

“You don’t know what I plan to dance.”

He grins. “Alright,” he reaches into his back pocket for his phone. Tapping something on it for a moment and pressing send. Sansa got a notification. A deposit was made to her account for eighty dollars.

“Hand getting a cramp from all those notes?”

“The start of a new era,” he flicks a hand in the air.

Sansa drops her bag to the floor.

“I have a class in two hours.”

“Then lets begin,” Petyr spreads his arms across the back of the couch and widens the space between his legs. Sansa watches him with a thinly veiled hunger in her eyes

“Now sweetling,” he says, catching blue eyes with grey. “Take your clothes off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooof! And she done!
> 
> A little dirtiness  
A little ambiguous ending  
A whole hecka perv
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing feedback and response. I am touched by your comments and encouragements. 
> 
> Till the next one my lovelies! I’m going back to my gremlin cave to dream up some more fucked up fiction for the future!


End file.
